


Mistletoe and Reindeer Lichen

by bioloyg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abominable Snowman Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Yeti, Angst, Derek POV, First Kiss, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spark!Stiles, Winter, Winter fic, Yeti Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the present, Derek bends down and picks up the broken phone, trying not to panic when he can’t catch a scent on the thing. He slides the shattered and useless husk of technology into his pocket for later and keeps going despite the burning itch at the base of his spine telling him to shift, to run, to find Stiles. The flipped coffee table and disjointed Christmas tree are enough to focus him. He can smell Stiles’ determination here as if it were something tangible. It’s strong, which is a relief. It means Stiles was alive when they dragged him out.</p><p>He hopes it stayed that way after the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe and Reindeer Lichen

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's writing things they shouldn't be when they have other fics to write and edit? This kid! And on top of that this one is _late_!
> 
> Anyway, there was this abundance of super fluffy holiday fics going around about a month ago, so I thought: why not make something really fucking ominous and angsty for a minute?
> 
> So, here’s this little thing I put together for the winter holiday time (which I'm late for) based on this prompt: _He understands exactly what the broken ornaments scattered all over the living room mean, and it’s nothing good._
> 
> P.S. it's not as ominous and eerie as it sounds, there's some fun in there too

Derek enters the dark apartment on tiptoe, quiet as usual. Watery impressions trail behind him on the carpet. Other then that he’s careful not to alert anyone to his presence, eerily graceful despite his size, but while he moves silently his inner monologue is loud and distracting. A never ending hum of, _Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay. Please…_

The house smells metallic and sharp, Derek notes, like the cold. That, over-warmed milk, and the powdered chocolate mix for hot cocoa. Of course Stiles would drink that shit. Aside from the myriad of holiday smells mixed with those of the human, there’s something else, something off. He can’t quite place it, which is frustrating given the situation, but he tables it for later and keeps cataloguing his surroundings.

As he reaches the living room his blood runs cold, any and all pretense of Stiles being okay flying out the shattered window near the TV. He understands exactly what the broken ornaments scattered all over the living room mean, and it’s nothing good.

 _Obviously_ , he thinks.

His mind skips backward to the frantic cries he’d heard over the phone when Stiles had called him in a desperate attempt to save himself from whoever – whatever – was attacking him. “ _Derek. Derek I need your help,”_ he had whispered harshly _. “Someone’s in my house! I think they’re tr –”_ and then the line was dead. Well, smashed. Derek heard the telltale whoosh of the phone being thrown.

Back in the present, Derek bends down and picks up the broken phone, trying not to panic when he can’t catch a scent on the thing. He slides the shattered and useless husk of technology into his pocket for later and keeps going despite the burning itch at the base of his spine telling him to shift, to run, to find Stiles. The flipped coffee table and disjointed Christmas tree are enough to focus him. He can smell Stiles’ determination here as if it were something tangible. It’s strong, which is a relief. It means Stiles was alive when they dragged him out.

He hopes it stayed that way after the fact.

The wolf catches himself before he travels any further down that path of thought and pulls out his own phone. There’s a message from Scott about notifying the sheriff and one from Deaton about tracking auras. He sighs and closes his eyes, opens them again when they’re the same ruby red as the shattered Santa ornament on the floor. Derek’s wolf eyes don’t detect anything, much to his dismay, but their redness does catch on some sort of reflective item buried in the wood of the windowsill.

Glass and plastic snap beneath Derek’s shoes as he moves toward the foreign object. He casually lifts his head to scent the air around it, hoping to catch something, but again he’s afforded nothing. He blinks the fire from his eyes and cautiously extends a hand toward the glittering material. It’s as dark as onyx, and _rough_. The item bends gracefully, a swooping curve, but it ends in a vicious point – one that Derek pricks his finger on. He frowns and wipes the blood away on his thigh. Part of him wants to throw the claw (or at least what he assumes is one) out the window in irritation, but the more composed half of him shoves that into the pocket with Stiles’ broken phone.

Other than the broken ornaments, over turned objects, claw, and broken window, nothing else in the apartment seems amiss. Stiles’ books are spread out on the kitchen table, as they almost always are, each open to a particular page as if he’d be coming back to them. Derek turns back toward the broken window one more time and shivers when a particularly harsh gust of wind makes its way through. A few lone snowflakes begin to trickle in. The wolf makes a mental note to come back and cover up the window before he leaves, that way Stiles’ things won’t get ruined. But first, he heads to the kitchen table in search of more information.

Each leather-clad tome is open to its own page on winter creatures. One bestiary has a section on Ice Sprites bookmarked, another has Barbegazi’s dog-eared. The third has something on the Yuki-onna highlighted and then the final one, off to the side, has a page with a Yeti marked. Though it looks like Stiles ruled this one out because there’s a black X next to it.

 _Must be the research I asked him to do_ , Derek remarks bitterly. It’s nothing of note right now. At least he doesn’t think it is at first. He had asked Stiles to look up supernatural creatures that might have been causing the latest cold-front in Beacon Hills, so this is supposed to be here... Derek scrubs his fingers along his scruff and then grabs the books anyway.

~

“What do you think it’s from?” Scott wonders as he twirls the black claw in between his fingertips. “Looks like something you’d find on a velociraptor, only smaller.”

Derek rolls his eyes and takes the item back. “I doubt a miniature raptor managed to kidnap Stiles.”

Scott shrugs. “You never know.”

“Deaton. Thoughts?” Derek asks, ignoring Scott entirely to hand the claw over to the druid.

He takes it and examines it closely, earthen brown eyes dialing in on something in particular, probably the jagged edge where the thing snapped off. A wave of understanding washes over his face and he holds out a hand, saying, “Hand me the book you say Stiles ruled out.”

Derek drags it from the table behind him and tosses it to the one closest to the vet. He’s met with a terse look and a small frown, but Deaton grabs it and flips to the page Stiles had marked anyway. He hums and straightens himself out once he’s read what he needed. “Stiles wasn’t ruling it out, at least not in the way that you think.”

“Then what way.”

Deaton crosses his arms and leans back against the examination table. “This definitely belongs to a Yeti,” Deaton explains. “But Stiles had only ruled it out as being the _cause_ of our snowstorm, not that it’s a factor in it.”

Derek and Scott exchange looks and then turn them on Deaton, but only Scott speaks. “So, the Yeti didn’t start it, but it could be helping?”

“No,” Deaton answers immediately. “Whatever caused this has surely _led_ a Yeti here. And, quite possibly, some of these other creatures Stiles has marked.”

“You figured all of that out by looking at the pages Stiles bookmarked?” Scott asks, clearly confused.

“No, I know because he told me.”

Derek heaves a sigh and grabs the book from Deaton again. “If that’s the case then which one of these _is_ the cause of the storm, and do you think it’s related to Stiles’ disappearance?” If not, then Derek really doesn’t care about the snow. He can’t fix that until he has Stiles back anyway.

The vet unfolds his arms and grabs one of the other books Derek brought in, the one on Ice Sprites. “Neither of us could be sure, but we agreed this is the most likely.”

“And why not the others?” Derek asks, because _if_ they’re involved, it’s important he knows what they’re doing even if they aren’t the cause.

“Barbegazi are merely ice dwelling gnomes and the Yuki-onna is indigenous to the mountains of Japan.”

“And the Yeti?” Scott asks from the side.

Deaton’s lips twitch as if he’s amused by the prospect of a Yeti. “Stiles was adamant that it wasn’t the cause of our troubles.”

Derek interrupts the two by asking again, “Is this or is it not related to Stiles’ abduction?”

“Could be,” Deaton answers breezily. “But who can be sure? You at least know a Yeti was in or near his home.”

The wolf clenches his jaw and draws upon some of the patience he reserves solely for trips to Deaton’s office. When he speaks again it’s through his teeth. “Do you think you could help us?”

“If you’re looking for direction your best bet is the scene of the crime,” Deaton replies. Which – not really the answer Derek was looking for. He leaves the office without another word; he’s pretty sure Scott trails behind.

~

Back in Stiles’ apartment, Derek takes off his coat and drapes it over a chair in the living room before sitting down. He can hear Scott puttering around the kitchen, looking through Stiles’ notes. He doesn’t even bother telling the wolf that he already looked through them right after he’d looked at the books. All he found written there was something about Ice and Snow sprites being territorial and easily manipulated or called upon, another note on the Yuki-onna being the ghost of a woman killed in a snowstorm, and something on the Barbegazi being trouble makers (but completely incapable of wielding ice magic). There was a suspicious lack of notes on the Yeti though, which bothered Derek then and still does now. Stiles was never one to leave information out while researching – and with a Yeti’s claw in his pocket Derek is kind of frustrated he chose now of all times to do so.

“Scott.”

The werewolf pokes his head out of the kitchen doorway. “Yeah?”

“Did you see any notes on the Yeti over there?” Derek’s pretty sure he didn’t miss anything, he’d made a pretty thorough sweep through the apartment, but he was a little stressed when he did it, so…

Scott shakes his head. “Nah, nothing. Why?”

He sighs and pushes himself up off the couch, speaking more to himself when he says, “He never leaves notes out, even when he doesn’t need them he makes a note about not needing them.” He clenches his teeth and then looks to Scott. “Can you check his room? See if he hid them somewhere.”

The wolf furrows his brows and tilts his head up. “Uh, sure. You think he hid his notes?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Alright.” Scott sets down whatever was in his hand and heads towards the room in back.

With him searching Stiles’ room, Derek heads back to the broken window. He carefully peels back the tape attached to the plastic bag covering the window and sets it off to the side. His fingers find the grooves in the windowsill almost immediately, the subtle claw marks. They’re shallow and narrow, most likely from Stiles. Derek slides his own fingers along them, red eyes flickering to life as he reaches the point where the claw was embedded at the end. He closes his eyes tightly to extinguish the flame burning there before it can catch on anything else.

He focuses on the positives, like the fact that he can’t smell blood. It’s both a blessing and a curse though. No blood means no trail. Not that he could smell it underneath that weird sharp scent that’s plaguing his senses though. He swore it was the cold when he first got here, is still partially convinced it is, but –

“Hey Derek.”

He turns around slowly, unwilling to be dragged from his thoughts, and raises an eyebrow.

Scott steps over the broken ornaments and around the shattered glass to come to his side. “I didn’t find anything hidden, but I think you should read some of the text on the Yeti. He made notes on everything but this. Maybe the absence of notes –”

“Was a note in and of itself,” Derek finishes quietly. Stiles had silently corrected and expanded on the passages of all the other ice creatures, but left that of the abominable snowman woefully blank. He’s hoping that means the passage is correct. He takes the book from Scott’s hands and flips to the corresponding pages to read.

 ** _Yeti, the man of the mountains_**  
            Strength Level: High  
            Intelligence: High (varies)

_In some legends this snow beast is described as being much like the previously mentioned Sasquatch, however in most scripts the creature has fur as bright as snow with black eyes that turn an eerie and electric blue when threatened. And, unlike their dark furred summer cousins, Yeti are not docile in the slightest. Their lengthy claws and sharpened teeth are enough to ward off even the biggest of predators. With strength just slightly above that of a werewolf and able to rival that of a seasoned vampire, the Yeti should be avoided at all costs in its natural habitat._

_While indigenous to the Himalayas, Yeti are now spread throughout the Northern Circle, sometimes traveling below that line during the winter when the climate is just right. However, it is quite possible that they be found mingled with humans, undetected. Like the werewolf, it is now known that abominable snowmen are capable of a “shift” which can be either half or full. These non-shifted Yeti, perfectly like humans, can be quite personable, but when provoked they are just as dangerous as they would be shifted – each possessing magic to defend themselves._

_Verdict: Avoid if possible, approach with extreme caution if unavoidable._

Derek lifts an eyebrow, intrigued, but before he can share anything of note with Scott his phone rings in his jacket pocket. He sighs and hands the book back to Scott, then grabs his phone.

“Hello.”

“ _Hale. We have a problem on the outskirts of the preserve. Near your old house._ ” It’s Sheriff Stilinski. He doesn’t mention anything about Stiles being missing, which is both terrifying and a relief all at once. Derek knows Scott told him.

“Do you need me to come down, or are you asking for permission to enter the grounds?” Derek slides on his coat and motions at Scott to tape the window back up.

A long and aggrieved sigh sounds out before the Sheriff answers, “ _You’re gonna want to see this._ ”

~

There’s blood. Lots of it. Derek’s skin ices over at the sight, even with his leather jacket. For a few terrifying moments he can’t scent anything but that stupid lingering sharp smell that’s been following him around so he almost thinks… When he can finally tell that it’s not Stiles’ blood he lets out a sigh of relief and ignores the look Scott shoots him. The nervous tremble in his hands is embarrassing enough.

He turns to the Sheriff and shoves his hands in his jacket. “Did you find a body to accompany this?” There’s a distinct shape in the snow that says there was one. At some point.

“I don’t know if body is the right word,” the Sheriff answers with a frown. The wrinkles around his eyes seem to have deepened. Either that or the lights flashing on top of the cruiser are catching them at the wrong angle.

Derek lets out a quick huff. “Human or no.”

“Human, we think. Mauled by something. By the look of the footprints leading up to the body we thought it was a bear, but Parks and Wildlife said _definitely not_.”

He fights the urge to snort and takes a closer look at the prints in the snow. They’re big, a few sizes above his own, and pressed deep into the snow. Whatever made them was large, and quite possibly heavy, though he doesn’t really think he needs to guess what did it.

“Is the body still here?”

The Sheriff quirks an eyebrow up. “In the M.E. van, why?”

He brushes his thumb over the black claw in his pocket and tries not to grimace. “I might know what happened.”

~

“Deaton, how much do you know about Yetis?” Scott asks as he and Derek come through the swinging doors, the dead body right behind them.

The vet looks up from where he was prodding at a cat; as soon as it catches wind of the wolves it begins to hiss madly. He scoops it up and drops it into the nearest kennel with a sigh. “I suppose that depends. What is it you want to know?”

Derek drags the stretcher near the examination table the cat was previously stationed at and shoves the board over and onto it. He unzips the body bag and pulls the Yeti claw from his pocket. “We want to know if it did this.”

Deaton lets out a huff, a sardonic grin on his face. He takes the offered item and pulls the sides of the body bag back. Under the fluorescent lights Derek can see a plethora of scratches. They range in size, some small and faint, others large and deep – those leave little to the imagination. The man was nearly torn in two by whatever attacked him.

Now that the body is inside where it’s warm and Derek has escaped that odd scent from before, he can smell something else on the man besides the large amount of blood. Something smoky. It’s as if he’s been working around coal or burned wood all his life, the scent buried deep in his skin.

“For starters,” Deaton says, interrupting Derek’s train of thought. “This is no ordinary man.”

“So he’s not human,” Scott mutters off to the side.

“That’s not what I mean, though you could be right. I _mean_ that this is a hunter.”

Derek’s muscles tense. He looks up from one of the gashes in the dead man’s neck and into Deaton’s eyes. “Smells like smoke.”

Deaton smirks. “I would assume so. He’s a Yeti hunter.”

“How can you tell?” Scott asks, coming closer to smell whatever it is Derek is smelling. He scrunches his nose in distaste.

“Most hunting clans have a mark to identify themselves with. This one has Isa, the rune for ice, tattooed behind his right ear.”

Derek tips the man’s face to the side and searches the area with his wolf eyes. Lo and behold, there it is – glowing and bright beneath his supernatural gaze. He pushes the man’s face back and sneers at it, annoyed with him even though he wasn’t a werewolf hunter. Any kind of hunter is an enemy.

“So we have one person missing, possibly at the hands of a Yeti, another dead, _definitely_ at the hands of a Yeti, but… no Yeti,” Scott sums up. “Where the heck is it?”

“The preserve,” Derek replies. “I can feel a slight disturbance – felt like a large wild animal before.”

Scott nods and turns to Deaton. “How do we fight it?”

The druid presses his lips into a thin line and leaves the room for a moment. He comes back with a large bestiary that’s about the same size of all four of Stiles’ books combined. It hits the metal table with loud a thunk. “It’d be best you didn’t fight it. You _did_ read the book Stiles had, did you not?”

“Yes,” Derek answers for the both of them.

“Then you’ll remember that they’re strongest in their element, snow and ice – which there happens to be an abundance of right now – and that when threatened in what they feel is their territory they can become _extremely_ aggressive. As you can see.” Both Derek and Scott look down at the felled hunter for a moment.

“So then what do you recommend?” Derek asks plainly. He’d really like to get this over with and find out where the hell Stiles is. The whole ordeal is making him want to vibrate out of his skin.

“Trap it. But, seeing as there was already one hunter here, there are likely more. So, you may not need any. You just need to find it first.”

Deaton opens his book and turns to a page towards the back. He traces the words with his fingers and then taps a specific part once he’s found something that seems to be what he was looking for. “You’re going to need this for protection…”

~

Scott lifts his jacket to sniff at it and curls his lip in distaste. “This smells awful.”

 _This_ being a blend of Artic Willow, Reindeer Lichen, and Antarctic Pearlwort. Deaton had given each of them a package of it and sent them on their way. Said its properties resembled mountain ash for certain ice creatures, namely the Yeti.

Derek doesn’t respond, only follows his nose. He hasn’t managed to catch wind of Stiles yet, much to his building dismay, but he _has_ learned how to separate the sharp smell he once thought was the cold and everything else. Apparently, included the list of things Deaton knew about Yetis was how they smell, which isn’t necessarily a smell at all if you ask Derek. It only makes his nostrils hurt – Deaton said something about that being the point.

He shakes his head and keeps trudging through the snow, following the tangy scent of the ice beast. A few minutes in, off in the distance of the forest, Derek hears a tree branch snap. Then another, and another. He holds an arm out, catching Scott in the chest, and then moves toward a large tree to hide. The low voices of intruders just barely register in his ears before more branches are snapping.

“Think it’s safe to say they’re not going for quiet,” Scott says.

Derek shoots him a look he hopes says _yeah neither are you_ , and then looks back in the direction he hears the noise. There are three men walking in a line, single file. _Hiding their numbers_ , Derek thinks. Definitely hunters then. His wolf bristles at the thought of them trampling through his territory, killing ice creatures without so much as notifying him _or_ the Argents.

“We need to find the Yeti before they do,” he says, voice low and just above a whisper. As much as he’d like to kill the creature for kidnapping Stiles, they need it alive to find him. Otherwise, the two of them would be up the creek without a paddle the way Stiles has disappeared with no trail. The fact makes Derek’s stomach twist itself into knots.

Scott looks around the tree from the other side and murmurs back, “You think they know where they’re going?”

“No,” Derek says after a moment of thought. “They’re traveling with the wind, but so is the scent I’ve been following.”

“I still have no idea what scent that _is_ , but okay.”

Once they deem it safe, the two leave their spot behind the tree in search of the Yeti, traveling in the direction opposite the hunters. As Derek stomps through the snow, he wishes he brought better shoes, or at the very least put plastic bags over his socks. He hadn’t expected the snow to get this deep beneath the trees, but right now it’s up to his shins. Scott seems to share the sentiment, shivering and sighing once every few minutes. The ice is clinging to his jeans.

Derek shoots him a look after the fourth sigh, a silent _shut up_. “We’re getting closer.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.”

He rolls his eyes and keeps moving. At least he does until he sees a flash of white dash through the trees. He stills Scott with a hand and presses a finger to his lips. _Quiet._ He tugs at his ear and points in the direction of upset, half hoping to catch a glimpse of something again. When thirty seconds of silent stillness pass, Scott shoots him a look.

Derek saw _something_. Even if it was out of the corner of his eyes, it was too big to be a figment of his imagination. He sighs lightly and nods Scott on, though they tread carefully. The forest is oddly quiet, aside from the wind whipping at the trees. Right now Derek’s wishing he’d read a little bit more on Ice Sprites before he left – anything on how to combat the cold that’s seeping into his bones, werewolf biology damned.

A few minutes later there’s another zip of white in his periphery. This time he _knows_ he’s not seeing things because it’s accompanied by an angry sound akin to a bear and a garbage disposal. It’s just as cutting as the scent Derek had been following. He and Scott stand back to back, shuffling through the snow slowly, searching for the beast that’s weaving between the trees.

It’s incredibly fast, much faster than should be possible given the amount of snow covering the ground. Then again, this _is_ its element, it’s no wonder it can glide through the precipitation as if it were nothing.

Derek’s hairs stand on end despite being frost covered and he can feel Scott’s chattering bones because of how closely they’re pressed together. He wishes he had another jacket to give to the wolf because, as it stands, he’s more annoyed by the distracting rattle than he’s sorry about it.

Another roar sounds out in the damning garden of icicles, sending some of them plummeting from branches around the two wolves. Derek and Scott press closer together fighting to turn towards the direction the sound is coming from, but it’s all around them, in between every tree.

“Hey, uh, how well d-do you think this mixture of herbs Deaton made us is gonna work?” Scott asks nervously.

Derek clenches his jaw and widens his stance. “I think we’re about to find out.”

Sheets of ice are sent crashing from the trees the Yeti bursts through, each one leaving small depressions in the snow. Both Derek and Scott are frozen in place for a second, distracted by the magnificence of the ice creature. The pictures in the book hardly did it justice. It’s got massive black horns, somewhere between a bull and a billy goat, and sleek white fur – nothing like the matted and poofy depiction in the book. It’s tall, nearly 8 feet, and it’s got spindly black fingers. Unfortunately, Derek notes as the beast nears them on its hind legs, there’s one thing the book _did_ get right.

It has stunning electric blue eyes when it’s pissed.

The Yeti releases another howl, a terrifying warning, and this time it vibrates all the way to Derek’s core. He keeps Scott behind him as they backpedal slowly, keeping as much distance between them and the snowman as he can. Its blue eyes dim considerably as it approaches them, sniffing, as if some form of recognition is registering. Just as Derek is about to let out a sigh of relief the thing rushes them and sends them crashing to the ground. After that Derek hears a snap and a yelp, smells something singed. He shakes himself off and quickly looks around, sees nothing but Scott brushing snow off of himself. He doesn’t think to look up until he hears rustling and a tree branch creaking under the pressure of foreign weight.

“It tried to save us,” Scott marvels as he follows Derek’s line of sight. The Yeti is tangled in a mesh net, thrashing and growling. Its size has been greatly reduced by something that’s woven into the material.

Derek sneers, “I’ll be sure to thank it as soon as we get Stiles back.”

Scott sends him a dirty look, to which he sighs and moves to find a way to get the thing down. He’s lucky it doesn’t take much, it only seems to be magick’d against snow monsters, not wolves. However, the net doesn’t unfurl when it comes crashing down out of the tree tops. A small oof sounds out from within it when it makes contact with the snow. Derek smirks, mildly satisfied. He has half the mind to drag whoever is in there back to town in the trap, as is.

“A little help,” is the muffled request they get from beneath the snow. Derek frowns and pushes it aside, not in much of a hurry, and is met with honey brown eyes.

His breath catches in his throat. That’s not –

“Ha, uh, listen… I can explain.”

“ _Stiles?!_ ” Scott squawks from beside Derek. He nearly shoves Derek into the snow in an attempt to get to the spark.

“Wait.” Derek stalls the wolf, eyes locked with that of the Stiles shaped _thing_. “How do we know this isn’t just some trick it’s playing on us to get away. They can shift, remember?”

Scott frowns and looks back down at the half-Yeti being that’s caught in the net. It certainly  _looks_ like Stiles, same face except for tiny black horns and fuzzy white eyebrows. Oh, and the fuzzy cowl neck sweater thing its white chest hair is doing. “It saved us, Derek. Besides, it kinda smells like him underneath the wet fur scent.”

The Stiles-Yeti amalgam rolls its eyes. “Jesus, I’m not an _it_. Just – ask me a question only _I_ would know!”

“Fine,” Scott huffs indignantly. “What did I tell you the night of our eighth grade camping trip with Ms. Jacobs’ class?”

The thing rolls its eyes. “Easy. You told me that you peed your pants in front of one of the pretty nurses at the hospital because you’d been holding it for so long helping her on her rounds.” Scott gapes at him, cheeks coloring pink, but Stiles ignores him. “Derek do you want to go too or are you gonna cut me out of the damn net? Something’s telling my furry ass we need to go. _Soon._ ”

Despite being more than a little irritated he does as Stiles says and cuts the ropes. They leave red checkered patterns on the ice man’s bare skin, like fresh burns. Then, when Derek tries to help him up, Stiles hisses and pulls his clawed hand back. It slowly transforms into that of a human, smoke billowing off of it.

“What the _fuck_ is in your jacket?” He nurses the afflicted area by sticking it back into the snow. Fur slowly creeps back up his arm, but it’s patchy and some of it looks singed.

“Plant mixture Deaton gave us to protect us from _Yetis_ ,” Derek answers pointedly.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Throw it away. Scott you too. That shit burns.”

When Derek doesn’t move to do so immediately Stiles looks back at him and says, “You’re a Christmas baby and I got you a book on anger management as a gag gift. You opened it two nights ago and put it on your shelf despite the fact that it was ‘a stupid gift’. Which was the point by the way. Now throw away whatever it is Deaton gave you. _Please._ ”

Derek throws the bag in with the net, more so because Stiles said please than because of his recitation of events from their Christmas party. He looks back up at Stiles, eyebrows furrowed. “You want to explain what’s going on?”

“Not really,” Stiles answers on the tail end of a sigh. For once it’s _his_ voice that brooks no arguments, and something in his eyes. Derek doesn’t push it, too caught up in cataloging the finer details of this new Stiles he’s been presented with. His arms are covered in fur from the elbow down and his neck is swathed in white too, but his chest is painfully bare. It doesn’t seem to be an issue though. He’s not even shivering despite his distinct lack of clothing. Not that it matters much for his lower half because he’s covered in fur there as well. The whole thing is a little surreal.

Something that’s obviously not lost on Scott as he hisses, “ _Dude_. Did the Yeti that grabbed you turn you or something?”

Derek catches the way Stiles’ heart rate spikes, which makes him think –

“We’ll talk about it later, man,” Stiles answers. He moves to pat Scott on the back but stops at the last minute when he remembers his hands. The sleek black fixtures growing from the white fur are _not_ spindly fingers – every inch of black Derek sees is claws. None of them address it.

The two let Stiles lead the way under some unspoken agreement that he probably knows best. He moves through the snow gracefully – with more balance and agility than Derek ever thought him capable of. If it weren’t for the fact that Stiles’ face is relatively unchanged in this “beta shift” Derek would swear this were a different person altogether.

The silence amongst them is tense and prolonged. It feels like they’re about halfway back to where they started when Stiles stops them. The hair around his neck stands on end, frilling dramatically. Derek scents the air, trying to get a hold on whatever it is Stiles is sensing, but he’s afforded nothing. It’s too cold.

Stiles turns his head back slowly, eyes a faint sky blue, and whispers, “ _Run_.”

There’s a moment of disconnect where nobody moves, one that’s too long. A loud shriek blasts through the trees, knocking the two wolves from their momentary trance. Stiles isn’t as quiet this time when he says, “ _Run_ , god damn it, ** _run_**!”

“What’s going on?” Scott yells as the trio sprint (or try anyway) through the snow and ice.

White fur creeps up Stiles’ back as he runs as if protecting him. “Ice elemental,” he answers just as loud. The screeching hasn’t stopped, if anything it’s worsened. “One of the hunters is controlling it. That’s why there’s such a big storm.”

“Why?!” Scott asks.

“I don’t know!” Stiles wails, though there’s a healthy dose of sarcasm when he says, “Maybe he wanted to have a _snowball fight.”_

Derek growls, breaking up the fight before it starts, then lets the beta shift take over. “Do you have a plan?”

Stiles turns to him, a frenzied look in his eyes. “Yeah. To keep running!”

 _Great plan_ , he grumbles internally. The wind around them has picked up to speeds rivaling that of a hurricane and ice is starting to pelt them. It takes Derek a moment to realize it’s not ice being knocked off the trees that’s hitting them but ice from the storm brewing behind them. Each hit leaves bruises he’ll probably be feeling in his bones for the next week.

Normally Derek’s werewolf stamina could keep him going for hours but the combination of fatigue, wind, and all the god damn _snow_ is slowing him, and Scott, down considerably. Stiles is unaffected for once, only notices their slowed pace when he turns back and the two wolves are farther behind him than they were in the beginning. He doubles back and halts, hot breath curling in the air as he pants out, “I’m gonna say something, and I’m gonna need you guys to trust me.” The statement is directed at Derek more than Scott.

Derek looks over his shoulder briefly and then to Stiles, grinding out the words, “ _Say it_.”

“You’re gonna need to hold on to me.” He looks nervous when he says it.

“What?” Derek and Scott say at the same time.

He looks behind the two of them and bounces up and down in place anxiously. When he looks back at the wolves fear distorts his features. “I’m gonna shift and I need you to hold on to me. I’ll carry you if I have to, but we need to go like yesterday and you guys are moving too slow.”

Stiles turns back around without giving them time to respond, _or_ argue, glowing at the edges almost immediately after. One moment he’s your average 6 foot tall half-human and the next he’s a towering 8 foot tall Yeti. He turns his head and motions for them to climb up as he crouches down. An odd sight.

“It’s not everyday you can say you’ve gotten a piggy back ride from a Yeti,” Scott cheerfully reminds Derek, as if this is all in good fun.

Derek would cuff him over the head if he thought he could manage it, but he keeps his hands to himself in order to get a grip on Stiles’ silk-like hair. It feels like a dream, and not in the cute way. Derek honestly feels like he’s having some weird half-nightmare. There are bare black trees whipping at them in the wind brought about by a supernatural storm caused by some elemental, and Stiles is apparently a Yeti with incredibly smooth fur.

The alpha shakes off the stray thoughts and tries to focus on surviving the night.

After Stiles winds a hand back for each wolf to brace themselves on, he’s off. If Derek thought he’d been quick before it’s nothing on the speed Stiles’ full Yeti form possesses. The white mass dips and darts between tree branches as well as the ice coming at them from behind with an ease that almost seems practiced. But after a while that doesn’t seem to matter because the forest goes quiet. Unnaturally so. He hardly has the chance to figure out why that is when Stiles skids to an abrupt halt. Scott slips and falls to the snow, a small yelp punched out of him, but Derek holds on with a clawed hand.

The Yeti looks back at him with narrow blue eyes, more accusatory than threatening. Still, Derek blanches and retracts his hold. The contrast between the red blood and the white fur is stark, unreal almost.

“What the hell, Stiles?” Scott whines as he gets up.

Said snowman looks away from Derek and growls, then he shakes until Derek gets the hint and slides down too. “Be _quiet_ ,” he hisses as he transforms back to his half furred state. He splays his arms out wide like a shield and searches the now eerily silent forest.

“Something’s not right,” he gathers in a shaken voice.

**_CRASH_ **

“Stay behind me!” Stiles screams through the deafening roar. Tree after tree is leveled and the wind picks up tenfold. Stiles shifts back, a transition that is both seamless and effortless. His broad frame protects them from the frigid onslaught, but not the sound. It’s like nails on a chalk board combined with a chainsaw and a fire alarm all wrapped up in high frequency whistle. Derek fights the urge to cover his ears, needing to be ready for whatever it is they’ve been cornered by, but Scott can’t manage to do the same. Stiles looks back at them, an apologetic look in his fierce blue eyes, and then all hell breaks loose.

The Ice Sprite emerges from the thick blanket of snow, arms spread wide as a mock comfort. Derek makes the mistake of eyeing her too long. She zeroes in on him as if she felt the gaze like a touch. Her eyes narrow and her hands come together in a deafening clap, and soon after that a barrage of ice comes flying towards them.

Derek never feels its fury though. The attack is blocked by a wall of ice brought to life by Stiles’ hand, a wall that is just as quickly destroyed and sent hurdling toward the sprite. She just barely dodges it before Stiles is sending stakes of ice toward her. Derek doesn’t get to see if any of them hit because he’s quickly manhandled into one of Stiles’ arms, Scott in the other.

“I don’t think running is the best plan,” Derek growls as he tries to adjust himself in Stiles’ grip. He’s squeezed a little bit tighter, no doubt in retaliation for his words, and the Yeti runs faster. It’s all for naught though, because the three are quickly cornered again. Derek would say _I told you so_ , except Stiles nearly throws him and Scott into a tree in an attempt to block yet another attack.

The hit is forceful enough to send him staggering backward into a tree. It drops almost all of its snow on him and he shrinks back down to his normal stature. Despite wearing his human features when he emerges from the pile of snow, Stiles looks infinitely more menacing – all his tempered rage contained in such a lithe package. Derek feels like he and Scott should be bracing themselves for the hit when Stiles opens his mouth and screams, “ _INFERNO!_ ”

Nothing happens for the first two seconds and Scott almost looks ready to leap in front of Stiles to protect him, but then the sprite lets out another ungodly shriek and begins to brighten from the inside out. Her body cracks, the breakage cascading quickly, and then shatters altogether. No sooner does she disappear the winds around them halt in a manner that’s just as jarring as when they were present.

Before Scott can even get a word in edgewise Stiles holds up his furred hand and says, “Dude, don’t even give me that. They’re elementals, not humans. It’s not like she’s dead; someone can just conjure her up again. Me? Not so much.” The stunned look slips right off the beta’s face and something more neutral falls into place.

Stiles doesn’t even turn to see the look on Derek’s face, just pulls the rest of himself from the pile of snow and says, “We need to keep moving.”

It really shouldn’t surprise Derek that they make it all the way to his car before they’re ambushed, but somehow it does. In his life he’s learned that it’s far too much to ask that the universe let him get away with a clean break. Everything is always messy, messy, messy. That’s why there are hunters waiting for them by Derek’s Camaro, guns holstered but within reach.

“Told you we should’ve brought the cruiser,” Scott mutters.

Derek clenches his teeth. “Now is _not_ the time, Scott.”

There are three of them, the same three from earlier Derek thinks. They’re all pretty nondescript, except for the one with a large scar along his chin. It’s not the sort of thing you can miss. Of course, he’s the one that steps forward to reveal he has some ugly vendetta against mythical beasts of the night. “Hand over the yeti. He’s _ours_.”

And, of course, Stiles can’t keep his mouth shut. Has to rile them. “What yeti? Oh – **_me_**? I’m actually half polar bear, sorry to disappoint.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” one from the back says, he’s got a close shaved head and his nose is bright red from the cold. He cocks his gun and points it at Stiles like there aren’t two wolves there beside him.

Derek growls at his brazen disregard and steps in front of the spark. “You three have no business here in my territory. Not to mention, you were never cleared by the Argents to enter the city limits.”

Scar chin sneers at that, hand stroking the blunt edge of his gun. “The Argents have no authority over ice hunters, and you’d do well to hand over the snow beast before we have to do something we’ll regret.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Stiles huffs from behind Derek, and Derek really wishes he could stop him – the guy’s got zero self-preservation instinct. “Regret? I don’t think **any** of you guys have a single humane bone in your bodies.”

“Shut. Up.” Derek snarls. He lets his eyes bleed red and his claws drop. They don’t have time to dance back and forth like this. The supernatural blizzard may have ended, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still mountains of snow and a bitter chill slicing right through Derek’s core. “I’m giving the three of you ‘til the count of ten before _I_ do something _you’ll_ regret.”

The quiet hunter to the left of the scar faced one steps forward and finally pipes up, jaw set in a tight line. “That thing killed my brother. We’re not leaving until we have him or we’re _dead_.”

“Then die,” Stiles mutters before adding, vehemently, “ _Also_ , I’m not the one that killed your brother!”

“Liar!” The scarred man spits. The air around them is instantly ten times as tense.

Scott holds his hands up, palms out, a movement that would be placating literally any other place but here. “He’s not lying; I can hear his heart. This is all one big misunderstanding.”

Derek fights the urge to roll his eyes. He admires Scott’s pacifist nature, but now is neither the time nor place. They’re not walking away from this without a fight. Though, Derek _is_ surprised to find that Stiles was telling the truth. It wouldn’t have mattered to Derek either way but now he has no idea what _did_ kill that other man, which is troubling to say the least.

The red-faced hunter narrows his eyes. “Like we’d trust anything you mutts say.”

“I’m going to start counting,” Derek grinds out, tired of the whole interaction. “ _One_.”

“Hand him over!” The lone brother screams, raising his gun.

“ _Two_.”

Scott looks nervously between the two groups. “Derek...”

“ _Three_.”

Another gun is cocked

“ _Four_.” Derek lets his fangs elongate.

“Oh for the love of god,” Stiles gripes. He pushes Derek aside and claps his hands together right as he belts out, “ _Somnus!_ ”

All three hunters collapse immediately.

Scott looks back at Stiles, his eyebrows drawn down in confusion. “You could’ve done that the whole time?”

Stiles shrugs, irritatingly nonchalant about the whole ordeal. “What? I wanted to know why they were chasing me, dude.”

“Unbelievable,” Derek huffs before gesturing to the hunters. “How long is that gonna last?”

“Two hours tops,” Stiles responds, scratching at his head. “I’m surprised it worked at all to be honest, I thought they had magic on them.”

“You weren’t even sure that would _work_?” Scott whines. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Stiles presses him with a look. “I had a back up plan Scott, c’mon.”

“Enough.” Derek steps over the immobile hunters and opens the door to his car, grabbing an evidence bag from his glove compartment.

“You keep those in your car?” Stiles asks with a raised eyebrow.

He huffs and ignores him for a moment to gather the weapons. “With everything that happens in town why wouldn’t I?”

Stiles waves his paw casually. “M’not saying it’s a bad thing. Just… very _you_.”

“Whatever. Just get these guys in the trunk while I call the sheriff. Search them for any other weapons before you put them back there though.”

“Please, you act like this is our first rodeo. Let’s do this Scott.”

The beta snorts. “Uh uh. Now that I know you’ve got Yeti strength you can do this on your own.”

Stiles scrunches his face up. “Oh come _on_.”

~

“You knew it wasn’t him that killed the hunter back there,” Derek says as he comes to stand beside the sheriff. All of them are at Deaton’s waiting on the hunters to come to. It’s been a little over an hour so that should be any minute. Stiles is perched on a metal examination table across from them with some borrowed sweats and a Beacon Hills PD shirt on, talking to Scott while Deaton pokes and prods at him.

John looks at Derek, a small yet sly grin on his face. “That’s a possibility.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

The sheriff lets out a deep breath and shrugs. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. I knew he had his reasons for hiding it from everyone. Besides, you figured it out.”

Derek looks over at him from the corner of his eye. “Why did you really call me out there then?”

“To keep him safe,” the sheriff says plainly, somehow knowing how much Derek would go through just to bring Stiles back, protect him. “I knew you’d be able to find him. That he’d _let_ you find him.”

Derek doesn’t know how to respond to that, not right now. He turns back to where Stiles is animatedly explaining the ins and outs of what it’s like to be a snowman to Scott. All of the fur that covered him before is gone and the horns that were atop his head have disappeared without a trace. He doesn’t even smell like a yeti anymore, and Derek finds it’s no wonder he never found out. Physically nothing seems amiss. It kind of irritates him. The acrid taste of anxiety that sprung up at the prospect of losing Stiles from earlier is still at the back of Derek’s throat, and his mind is pretty much _whirling_ , but Stiles is the same as ever.

“Why didn’t _he_ say anything?” Derek wonders idly, a little bitter. It’s not like he would have treated Stiles any differently. Well, maybe he would have – he has no way of knowing now.

John looks back at him, face pensive yet soft. “I can’t say for sure, but I can say this: being a yeti runs on his other side of the family, not mine. If that means anything to you.”

~

The sheriff ends up taking the hunters back to the station after their (off the record) interrogation and charges them with trespassing on private property as well as aggravated assault against an officer (Derek). Derek would love to see them try and explain what it was they were doing at the preserve after dark, with guns, without mentioning yetis or werewolves and glowing eyes to the court.

Scott stays behind with Deaton to finalize the autopsy on the felled brother while Derek takes Stiles home – despite his very adamant protests. The car ride is tense and quiet, the space between them filled only by Stiles’ nervous tapping and erratic heartbeat. He looks over at Derek a few times, opens his mouth, but each time he closes it – thinking better of it.

Derek tightens his grip on the steering wheel and breaks the silence, though grudgingly. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He wants to let it go, really and truly, but for whatever reason he can’t and the words spill out.

It startles the spark. “I –” Nothing. The words stall in Stiles’ throat.

It’s a few more minutes before he gets out, “It wasn’t about me – in the beginning. Scott needed help controlling his shift, figuring himself out. I didn’t… not really. And if I had said something then he would’ve been hurt that I’d kept it a secret so long.” The spark picks at his nails, his heart thrumming.

“Why didn’t you say anything to _me_?”

Stiles turns to him now, eyebrows furrowed. “Derek you didn’t even _like_ me in the beginning. You were an angry wolf, and I was a 16 year old yeti – our differences were extreme enough with me as a human.”

He lets out a heavy breath, tries not to let the words sting, because it’s all true. “Not then. _Now_.” There’s a pregnant pause before he wonders, “Were you ever going to say anything?”

The spark frowns, shoulders falling. He looks out the window and shrugs. “I – I don’t know. Maybe? Does it matter?”

Derek parks the car outside of Stiles’ apartment and unlocks the car doors. He wants to say no, because it was really none of his business, but he can’t help but feel a little irritated (and disappointed) that his own emissary kept something so big from him. Was it out of fear? Did Stiles think Derek would shun him for being something other then a wolf? Did Derek say something to make Stiles think he was unfit to know?

His grip on the steering wheel tightens even further, all the what ifs getting to him. He says, “No,” even though he doesn’t mean it.

Stiles lingers on him for a long moment before stepping out of the car. Before he shuts the door he hunches down and says, quietly, “I can tell when you lie too y’know.”

The spark is already inside his apartment when Derek finally grumbles, “No, I don’t know, because you never _said_ anything.”

He lets his head hit the rest behind him and rubs a hand down his face. He can’t figure out what’s bothering him so much here: the fact that Stiles kept it from him, or the fact that he feels so entitled to every detail of Stiles’ life. It’s _wrong_. Stiles had every right to keep it from him. And yet…

He knocks on Stiles’ door, his hand heavy, his thoughts _loud_.

Stiles opens the door, now in a sweater and even thicker sweats. He’s got a small frown on his face and he smells anxious, a little angry. “What is it?”

“You could’ve been killed tonight.”

“But I wasn’t,” Stiles answers immediately, stepping aside to let him in. They’ve had conversations like this hundreds of times, at this point Stiles is probably just going through the motions on autopilot.

Derek slides into the apartment. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what _is_ , Derek?” The spark closes the door behind him and rests his head against it.

Derek is silent for a few moments. That’s the big question, isn’t it? He bites the inside of his cheek before he answers, “If your father hadn’t said… I – we could’ve lost you, Stiles. I would’ve had no way of knowing what happened to you.” Derek tries not to sound so exasperated, but he fails miserably if the look on Stiles’ face tells him anything.

Stiles leans back against the door, silent for once as his eyes rove over Derek’s face. His features dim into an oddly blank mask as he asks, “Why are you here Derek?”

The wolf moves forward, hand clasped around the black claw that’s back in his pocket. There are a million and one reasons he’s here, but only a handful of them seem valid. Somehow one of the lesser reasons still slips out. “Because you frustrate me to no end.”

“That’s nothing new,” Stiles snorts.

“You have no idea what it felt like walking into your apartment seeing your tree knocked over, the ornaments scattered on the floor, the broken window,” Derek snaps back instantly. The words have been carefully poised on his tongue ever since he dug Stiles out of the snow and cut the ropes around him, though he hadn’t really realized that until just now.

Stiles’ smirk falls and he straightens out against the door, but Derek just keeps going, an endless supply of words today it would seem. “I thought something had killed you. _I_ could’ve killed you. I thought a yeti kidnapped you, not that you _were one_.”

“Derek,” Stiles begins, voice small.

“No. You should’ve –” He shakes his head, stopping himself. “I wish you had told me, that you trusted me enough to say something – anything. Even something as small as ‘Ice hunters don’t like me.’ At least then I could’ve protected you, or had your back at the very least.”

 Stiles’ breath hiccups in his chest, but he still manages to be indignant enough to say, “I can protect myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to!”

The room seems to still after that. Even the dull warble of the plastic bag over the broken window is suddenly gone. Not for the first time, everything narrows down to one point for Derek: Stiles. His wide brown eyes, glassy and keen despite the surprise evident in them. His nervous heart beat, a wobbly pitter patter in the back of Derek’s mind.

Derek takes a deep breath and looks away, sometimes Stiles’ gazes can be intense, enough to stop even Derek in his tracks. He cuts through the silence, mildly embarrassed by his slip of emotional control, speaking softly. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this pack. I don’t care why you hid what you are but I don’t want you to isolate yourself, to feel like you’re the only one who really has your back. I –” He lets out a bitter laugh. Who was he kidding? He can’t do this. Maybe tomorrow, but right now his nerves are frayed.

“Forget it.”

Stiles stops him before he can leave with a gentle hand to his chest, something sad in his voice. “Hey. You know that I trust you, right?” When Derek refuses to answer Stiles’ voice becomes a touch more stern. “Hey, look at me. I – is that why it matters so much that I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“ _Derek_.”

He backs away from Stiles’ touch, needing the distance in order to compose himself and his thoughts, but the spark moves forward and fists his hand in the fabric of his shirt. “Look at me.”

Derek tries to avoid meeting Stiles’ gaze. Regrets the way he can’t even hold back for a full minute. The look on Stiles’ face is like a shot to the heart, every emotion laid bare. Derek’s eyes skitter away almost instantly, but Stiles follows, adamant that their eyes be locked. “I’m not going to apologize for hiding what I am.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Derek all but growls.

“Good,” Stiles says evenly. “Because I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Derek tries to pull away again but Stiles keeps him in place. “ _However,_ I am sorry that I worried you so much today when they kidnapped me, because some of that obviously could have been avoided had you known what I was.” Stiles’ fingers flex in Derek’s shirt and his voice goes soft. “I thought about telling you. Especially when all this ice bullshit came up. I just – things happened. They always do here. I didn’t mean to upset you, okay?”

A shuddering breath escapes the wolf as Stiles brings his hands to Derek’s face, cupping it gently. “I’m alive. You got to me.”

“What if I hadn’t?” Derek asks sorely.

Stiles brushes his thumbs across the tops of Derek’s cheeks and laughs, “God, you’re so _protective_.”

Derek grumbles something under his breath and rolls his eyes, pulling back. “I don’t know why I bother, you’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met.”

The spark reels him back in again, and it should say something that Derek has yet to protest. It should also say something that they’re so close together right now, that Stiles has managed to put his hands on Derek’s face _again_. But Derek can’t bring himself to be upset about it, as much as he wants to be angry with Stiles right now.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m _just_ as protective of you. We protect each other.”

Derek’s mind slams to a halt and his eyes slide back to Stiles. The wolf doesn’t need to listen to Stiles’ heart to know those words are true, in fact he’s known just how fiercely protective Stiles is for years. He’s seen it in action more times than he can count, and tonight was just another tally on the wall. However, the knowledge that this hum- this _yeti_ would put himself on the line for Derek always sneaks up on the dark corners of Derek’s heart and pulls at the shades, drowning them in this light feeling.

“There was another wolf in your territory. Not a werewolf though, an Amarok,” Stiles continues as he lets his hands fall from Derek’s face. He starts shifting nervously. “It – they’re solitary ice wolves. Huge and violent when threatened. I got – I felt it in the preserve and got angry. At the hunters _and_ the wolf. He should’ve smelled your scent, mine at the very least.”

“He?” Derek asks, coming back to the conversation.

Stiles’ eyes shoot back up to his. “Y-yeah, he. He’s the one that broke into my apartment.”

“ _What_?” Derek’s wolf bristles at that. The urge to rip the other wolf’s throat out for encroaching so far into his territory is nothing short of primal.

But Stiles must sense that; he rests a hand on Derek’s arm to calm him. “It’s okay. He’s gone now. I – we fought before you guys found me. That’s why I was so angry when I found you and Scott, I thought he’d come back or that there was another one. Your scents are oddly similar when it’s snowing.”

Derek nods, a barely there movement, and thumbs the claw in his pocket once more before pulling it out. He silently extends it to Stiles. “So this.”

The spark’s eyes widen. “Where did you find that?”

He jerks his head towards the broken window. “Thought it was yours. A yeti’s.”

Stiles’ eyes linger on Derek’s as he says the last word, gauging the wolf’s acceptance of his dual nature. He must be okay with whatever he finds because he answers, “No, that – yeah that’s the Amarok’s.” Stiles takes Derek’s hand and keeps it in place; he uses his other to trace along the swooping curve of the black wolf claw. Suddenly his piano fingers turn into delicate black lines. “Mine are different, longer and more narrow at the ends.”

“All this time,” Derek mumbles, putting away the wolf’s claw to take Stiles’ shifted hand in his. He turns it slightly and marvels at the way the light catches on the talons. “Could’ve used your help quite a few times.”

The spark narrows his eyes and lets his hand shift back. “You never would’ve let me help even if you _had_ known. Like I said, you’re protective.”

“You’re _important_ ,” Derek answers gruffly.

“That remains to be seen,” Stiles says breezily.

Derek uses Stiles’ hands to pull him close. “You _are_. And the sooner you realize that the better.”

Stiles’ cheeks flush and he looks down at their joined hands. Derek makes a move to drop them, afraid he’s said too much, but Stiles holds on and threads their fingers together. A slow grin makes its way across the spark’s face. “You were really worried about me, huh?”

Derek narrows his eyes. “You’re fishing.”

“So what if I am?”

They’re chest to chest, and Stiles’ honey brown eyes are practically dancing in the light of the apartment, daring Derek to get even closer. So he does, leaning in slowly until his lips are mere inches from Stiles’. He diverts at the last second to whisper, “I’d say you need to try harder.”

“You’re a _menace_ ,” Stiles hisses before turning his head to capture Derek’s lips. He wriggles his hands from Derek’s grasp and cups his face. After a moment, a soft lingering kiss, he pulls away to whisper, “To think I fought an ice wolf to defend your honor.”

Derek’s chest rumbles and his eyes burn at the center. “I could’ve handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Stiles answers loftily. He thumbs across Derek’s jawline and adds, a bit more seriously, “Besides, I’ve got your back and you have mine.”

Derek closes his eyes for a moment and takes in a deep breath. He holds it as he thinks about how worried he was for Stiles and lets it out as he remembers how strong the spark was, even before Derek knew he had an added supernatural edge. Both of them can handle themselves just fine, but they don’t have to, not when they have each other.

The wolf gently presses a kiss to Stiles’ cheek, agreeing, “I have your back and you have mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> You should also take a look at this picture (msmerc.tumblr.com/post/106121157870/its-a-seasonal-thing-merr-christmas-folks) I would've done an embedded link but AO3 hates me rn.


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